


Anticipation

by atetheredmind



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Missing Moments, from season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 18:50:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16046456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atetheredmind/pseuds/atetheredmind
Summary: The night before they sail together to White Harbor, Jon and Daenerys have a little tête-à-tête just outside the Dothraki camp





	Anticipation

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this drabble for Jonerys Monthly Events on tumblr back in August, and I'm just getting around to posting it on here. Gotta do my part to boost our ship's tag!

“That’s the last of it,” Jon told Davos as his men pushed the skiff out to sea, loaded down with chests of dragonglass. Gendry had forged as many weapons as he could while here on Dragonstone, but the rest of the dragonglass would have to be made into weapons once they reached Winterfell, as they sailed for White Harbor on the morrow.

“Think it’ll be enough?” Davos asked gravely, squinting at the dark shapes of their ships on the horizon. The sun had set while Jon’s men–now the queen’s men–had provisioned the boats. Night had crept upon them, with only the moon overhead to guide the skiff toward the anchored ships.

Jon wiped at the sweat on his brow. “It’ll have to be.” It was more than he could have hoped for, anyway, when he’d originally set off for Dragonstone all those months ago. But the Army of the Dead never lacked for soldiers. He just had to hope that three dragons– _no, two,_  he remembered with a wince–could level the battlefield in favor of the living.

Jon and his captain turned from the shore and began the long trek to the castle. After laboring on the beach all day in preparation for their journey, his skin was sticky with sweat, his underclothes clinging to his chest and thighs beneath his gambeson and trousers. He looked forward to a long, hot bath, as he knew the opportunities to bathe once they were underway would be few and far between.

It had absolutely nothing to do with wanting to impress Daenerys, knowing they were going to be in such close quarters for so many days.

And nights.

As he and Davos hiked the narrow, winding steps, Jon noticed a faint reddish glow against the night sky, hanging over the green rolling hills beyond the castle. Another fifty steps or so and he could see that the light was coming from the Dothraki camp. The warriors were already on the march to Winterfell from King’s Landing, but the women and children of Daenerys’ khalasar had stayed behind on the island.

Once he had a good view of the camp, Jon slowed to a stop. The Dothraki were huddled around small fires, which illuminated the entire camp. To his surprise, he saw the familiar silver hair of the queen among them, her advisor Missandei at her side. Daenerys moved between the horse-hide tents, talking to the women and handing them fur blankets before moving on to the next group. Even from a distance, Jon could make out the kind smile on her face when she’d stoop to hug the children who ran up to greet her.

Having finally noticed Jon was not at his side, Davos came to a stop some steps above him and turned back. “Your grace?” he asked, holding his lantern out.

Jon looked to him. “I think ‘my lord’ will suffice now, Ser Davos.”

“Forgive me, my lord. I’m an old man and, as they say, old habits die hard,” he replied. Jon smiled at that, then glanced back at the Dothraki camp.

“Why don’t you go on, Ser Davos? There’s something I’d like to see,” Jon said. Davos followed his gaze and cracked a furtive grin.

“Of course, my lord.” He pivoted on the steps, muttering under his breath, “Something tells me I might want to get as much sleep tonight as possible.”

Jon ignored that quip and headed back down the stone steps. His curiosity moved his feet faster, the flame in his lantern flickering in his haste. When he reached the bottom, he turned toward the camp and set off in that direction.

Cresting the hill, he came upon Daenerys and Missandei, apparently on their way up to the castle. As they neared, he stopped to wait for them. His heart rate increased with Daenerys’ every step.

“Your grace,” he said in greeting. She halted a few feet from him, Missandei holding a lantern to guide their way. Daenerys’ arms were empty now, relieved of the blankets.

“My lord.” Concern creased her brow. “Is something amiss?”

He wet his lips, affecting nonchalance into his voice. “No. We’ve just finished loading the ships for our journey tomorrow.” He cast his eyes toward the camp at her back. “I happened to see you among the Dothraki as I was on my way to the castle.”

She blinked, her expression fleeting. After a brief moment of silence, she looked to Missandei and spoke quietly. “Thank you for your help tonight, friend. Please, make sure you’re well rested for tomorrow. I’ll be up right after you.”

Missandei nodded. “Of course, your grace.” Her eyes danced in the dark as she dipped her head in farewell to Jon then left them behind to talk in private. He cleared his throat, flexing his hand inside his glove. His other hand clenched the handle of his lantern tightly as he groped around for something else to say, anything to hold her a moment longer. She looked ethereal in the light of his lantern, backlit by the campfires. Fierce, too, a resolve lighting her amethyst eyes. She was a lovely sight to behold, and it was hard not to feast his eyes upon her and take his fill, as if every time he saw her might be the last.

With what awaited them in the North, it very well could be.

“I was seeing to my khalasar,” Daenerys said in answer to his unspoken question. “As we will be gone for a while, I wanted to make sure they had all they’ll need in my absence. Blankets. Clothes. Food. They’re resourceful people, but this climate is cooler than they’re used to.”

He was touched by her devotion, her compassion. It made something twinge in his chest, right by his heart, and he fought the urge to rub his thumb into his sternum, as if he could ease this near-constant ache for her. When had it started, exactly? Surely the moment he saw her swoop in on Drogon beyond the Wall like some fearless goddess. Or maybe even before then, that moment in the cave when she’d finally begun to understand his plight–when she’d moved so close to him he could taste his heart on his tongue.

“You take good care of your people,” he said softly, holding her gaze.

She looked away. If the lighting weren’t so dim, he was sure he would find a blush on her cheeks. His stomach tightened at the thought, remembering the flush that had overtaken her face in the dragon pit, when it’d just been the two of them. He’d made her laugh then, despite the grim circumstances.

Gods, had he really discussed future children with her? Not explicitly, of course, but his boldness and presumption embarrassed even  _him_.

“They’re my responsibility,” she demurred. Her eyes shifted back to him. “They put their faith in me. They trust that I will protect them. And I will. Just as I will do for the people of Westeros. For your people.” 

“They’re your people now,” he told her.

Her smile was droll. “Perhaps. I think a few might have something to say about that, though.”

“Oh, they will, if they’re the same hard bastards I left behind,” he said easily. She chuffed then pressed her lips together to stop another laugh. His expression sobered. “But, at the end of the day, they’re fair and just. They’ll see in you what I saw. We just have to show them.”

Daenerys shook her head. “Everything I’ve achieved over the years, I had to work for. I had to prove to myself and to others that I deserved it. I know it won’t be easy. I never expected it to be.”

“Maybe not. But you were able to win the respect of a hundred thousand Dothrakis. I don’t know if anything’s impossible for the Dragon Queen.”

She peered at him, her face soft and open, but after a moment, she playfully narrowed her eyes. “Do you flatter me, my lord?”

His smile fell. “What? No—”

“I think you do,” she said, cocking her head to the side. She feigned confusion. “Unless you mean to tell me this is how they flirt in the North?”

Now  _he_ was the one blushing. Her mouth twitched at the corners, a smile threatening to overtake her face. She was teasing him. Like she had on the beach before he’d sailed for Eastwatch.  _I’ve grown used to him_ , she’d told him, regarding him with hope and regret and fear plain in her eyes. He hadn’t known how to respond, not when he was about to set sail on a mission that could very well mean his death.

He wouldn’t fumble it this time, though. “In the North? No, Your Grace. We’re much too serious and sullen for that.”

Her smile slipped free, lighting up her eyes. “Mm,” she hummed in answer, studying him thoughtfully. “That’s unfortunate. I would recommend they try it sometime. I found it helps get the blood flowing. Might warm that chill in their bones.”

All this talk of blood flowing, Jon was like to make a fool of himself. Out here in the dark, the two of them alone–it was intimate, seductive. Dangerous. It seemed selfish to be sharing this moment with her, but under the secret cover of night, he felt safe enough to indulge. “I’ll discuss it with my bannermen once we reach Winterfell,” he said gruffly, the words grinding through the tightness of his throat. “However, I think it might be a speech they find more motivating coming from you.”

She laughed at that, a full-throated, deep-bellied laugh. It was music to his ears. Gods be good, he was so far gone over her.

“Yes. Delivered from atop my dragon. They might listen then. Or better yet, naked. I’ve inspired many a people sans clothing. Which do you think your men would find more motivating?” she asked, tapping her finger to her chin.

He stared at her, paralyzed. “Pardon?” he coughed out.

She seemed to realize then what she’d said. Alarm flared in her eyes. “I–forgive me. I only meant it in jest. Growing up in Essos–sometimes I forget how very different the culture is from Westeros.”

“They do a lot of speaking in the nude, do they?” he asked, trying desperately, futilely, not to picture it. Not when she stood right in front of him, all forbidden, secret curves hidden beneath her stiff regal coat. Suddenly, his mouth went dry.

Her entire body had gone rigid, but she lifted her chin, refusing to be embarrassed. He recognized false bravado when he saw it. Still, he was impressed with her ability to forge ahead. “They do many things out in the open,” she said. “Especially the Dothraki.”

“Aye?” he asked stupidly.

Her earlier horror faded, and he saw a faint smile curve her mouth. “Oh, yes.”

“Such as?” Others take him, why had he asked that? He was a masochist, there was no other reason for it.

“Everything, really.” She hawed, lifting her shoulder in a casual shrug. And–was he imagining it, or had she moved closer at some point during their conversation? “Tell me, my lord. Have you ever made love under the night sky?”

His eyes darted upward as if in prayer, before he lowered his gaze to meet hers. He licked his lips, hot and itchy under the collar of his gorget. “Once or twice,” he rasped. She seemed surprised by this, her brow lifting slightly, and he suppressed a victorious smirk. It felt good to surprise  _her_ , for once. No doubt she took him for some stuffy, repressed Northerner, whose prick was a frigid as their winters. Her pupils had grown fatter at this revelation, the violet of her eyes nearly gone. He forced a smile, though that ache in his chest was back–and venturing lower as he spoke, settling in his groin. “But it’s not really encouraged in the North, your grace. Not in all that snow.”

She pressed her lips together, fighting an amused grin, and made a thoughtful sound in the back of her throat. It reminded him of a kitten purring. “Yes. All that snow,” she murmured, her eyes briefly skimming over him. “Well. I suppose it’s a good thing we’ll be on a ship when we sail north, then.” Her response left him tongue-tied, not that she gave him much of a chance to reply. Already, she had assumed the aloof comportment of the queen once again. But now he could at least recognize it for the mask it was. “I’m afraid it’s getting late, my lord. We should head inside now and rest up for our journey tomorrow.”

She was already walking past him, into the night. Stirred from his stupor, Jon turned to escort her all the way back to the castle by the light of his lantern.

Yes, he would certainly rest up. But not before that bath.


End file.
